


Join The Club, We've Got Jackets

by confused_android



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Backstory, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Señor Mouser the cat, just a lil goofy fic, team jacket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25426594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confused_android/pseuds/confused_android
Summary: It starts as a joke. Or well, not a joke, exactly, but not really intentional, either.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 25





	Join The Club, We've Got Jackets

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly [ephemeral_motif](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeral_motif)'s fault, but she graced me with an incredible accompanying piece of art, so I cannot possibly be upset. Please do [check it out!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25426456)
> 
> Kindly beta'd by [tiny_little_dot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiny_little_dot)

Dirk breezes in the front door of the apartment with a shopping bag dangling from one elbow and the landlord's huge ginger cat snuggled against his chest. He strides to the middle of the living room and plants his feet, beaming. "I have an announcement to make," he declares.

"Hi Dirk," Todd and Farah chorus, then look at each other and grin.

"Hey," Farah says instead, turning back to her laptop; Todd snorts.

"Has Señor Mouser kidnapped you again?" he asks, walking over and holding his hand out for the enormous orange creature to sniff.

"I resent the implication that I didn't choose to pick him up myself," Dirk sniffs, and Todd rolls his eyes and steps closer to deliver pets. Señor Mouser digs his claws into Dirk's collarbone, kneading. He squeaks.

"You never want to pick him up," Todd reminds him. "He sheds all over your clothes."

"Well he does!" Dirk complains. "But he just kept – kept looking at me until I let him up."

"Come here, Señor," Todd says in a babyish voice that he would later deny if asked about, holding his arms out; the cat regards him with an iron glare long enough to communicate that it is his decision to move, and not Todd's demeaning request that inspired it, then springs off Dirk's chest and onto Todd's. Todd immediately buries his face into the mane of floof and resumes scratching and petting. Señor Mouser purrs like a tractor idling.

Dirk sighs dramatically and drops the shopping bag on the floor, trying to brush the orange fur off his shirt, his jacket, his trousers. "How does that beast still have fur at all?" he mutters. "We get drifts and tumbles of it in every corner; I may as well be called Skimbleshanks with the amount I'm wearing."

"Was that a 'CATS' reference?" Farah asks, finally distracted enough to look up. "Did you go see it on your own?"

"Well, you wouldn't come with me," Dirk says. "So yes, I saw it alone, in a room full of screaming teenaged girls and ex-theater nerds trying to relive their glory days. It wasn't the most pleasant experience, the first or second time."

"You saw it twice?"

"No," he scoffs, "I saw it three times, but the third time was perfectly lovely. The man behind the ticket counter recognized me at that point and gave me a voucher for a free popcorn – you know I don't usually get popcorn because it gets stuck in my teeth, but I could hardly turn down a gift, even if it necessitated using some of Todd's floss afterwards – and I was one of three in the theater, so I was free to appreciate the cinematography uninterrupted. I honestly wept."

Todd and Farah exchange horrified eye contact.

"Okay," Farah says, holding her hands up and standing, moving away from the kitchen table. "I think we're getting off track. And I really didn't need to know that about you. You said you had an announcement?"

"Did I?" He blinks. "Oh, yes, I did! I mean, I do!" he enthuses, giving up on de-furring himself and diving for the plastic bag on the floor. "I have finally gotten the final and most vital piece of what this agency needs."

"Marketing?" Todd suggests over Señor Mouser's back.

"Insurance?" Farah asks.

"More weapons?"

"We don't need more, I have plenty," Farah says. "A new filing cabinet for the back room?"

"Coffee?" Todd tries hopefully.

"Your receipts from the Henry case?"

"Evidence baggies?" Todd asks, and Dirk twists to look at him, face pinched in annoyance.

"For the last time, Todd – we don't need evidence bags. I don't collect evidence – not like that anyway." He looks ready to work himself into a snit, until he realizes that Todd is hiding a grin behind the orange fur. He groans in exasperation and crosses his arms. "Listen, if you don't want to know what I brought…"

"No, no," Farah says, stifling her own laughter. "We want, we definitely want. Tell him you want, Todd."

"I want to know," Todd says, not quite able to hold a straight face, but doing his best to project maximum sincerity. "I promise, I do." Señor Mouser chirps in agreement, then goes back to cleaning Todd's chin.

Dirk holds his disgruntled face for another beat or two before he gives up and drops it – he's too excited to pretend to be grumpy. "Okay," he says, hands fluttering in front of his chest. "Okay, so. As an agency, we are…" he trails off expectantly.

Todd and Farah exchange glances again.

"Detectives?" Farah tries.

"Hungry."

"Hungry," Farah agrees, nodding. "We're also, um –"

"Overworked," Todd supplies. "And, uh – underpaid?"

"Hey," Farah says indignantly. "You are not. But we are competent professionals." She looks to Dirk. "Is that it? We're competent professionals?"

"No," Dirk scolds, then pauses. "No, okay. I mean, yes. But no." They look blankly at him and he sighs and jabs one finger towards the crayon picture hung on the fridge. "We’re Team Jacket."

* * *

It starts as a joke. Or well, not a joke, exactly, but not really intentional, either.

They're undercover at a radio station during a multi-round game show, and have been mistaken for contestants by one of the hosts. Seeing as denying it would involve admitting that they'd broken into the studio after hours, they go along with it.

"I'm not sure if I have you on my list," the host admits, chewing on the end of his pen. "What did you guys audition as?"

"Hunh?" Dirk asks, blinking.

"Your… team name?" The guy looks up from his clipboard and narrows his eyes, and Dirk panics.

"Team, uh –" He looks to Farah, eyes pleading.

"Team Jacket!" she supplies, just as panicked.

Todd looks about ready to slap his forehead.

To be fair, they do all have on fairly conspicuous jackets for people who are trying to fly under the radar. Dirk's wearing a pale lavender leather jacket with gold edging, Farah's kept the blue '42' letterman jacket that she took from the evidence locker in Bergsberg, and Todd is wearing his denim jacket, complete with burn holes and punk patches. They aren't exactly forgettable.

"Team Jacket," the host says, looking them over. "Doesn't quite translate for radio, but I like it." He nods and jerks his thumb back down the hall. "Green room is past the fire exit, you'll be in the second group." The three of them nod silently, hardly believing it, and he walks past them, scribbling on his clipboard.

They make it to the fourth round of the show before failing out, and manage to catch the culprit of their current case while they're at it. In the process, though, they become unexpectedly fond of 'Team Jacket'.

"Team Jacket, coming through!" Todd giggles as they push through the crowd at a bar.

"Tell them – tell them 'Team Jacket' will be waiting for them," Dirk says to a contact, aiming for mysterious and landing on befuddled.

Farah books a reservation at the café across from a suspect's flower shop and the hostess calls out "Team Jacket, party of 3!" ("why didn't you book us under 'Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency'?" Dirk complains, and Farah rolls her eyes. "I'm being circumspect, Dirk.")

It comes to a head when they need to interview students in a kindergarten class to track down their missing teacher.

"Why are you all dressed funny?" one child asks, squinting suspiciously at the trio of flashy grown-ups.

"It's our uniform," Dirk says solemnly. "We're Team Jacket. We have to wear them."

It takes them four days to track down the teacher, who's been kidnapped by literal, non-metaphorical mole-people. (Like, people who are literally partially moles. It's incredible. And terrifying.) Two weeks later, the agency gets a thick envelope in the mail filled with 17 pieces of art that say "thank you" in a variety of creative spellings. One says "thANK YOU TeAM JACKeT" with shockingly accurate drawings of each of them in their respective colorful jackets, and Dirk immediately grabs a magnet to put it on the fridge.

* * *

Todd and Farah look at each other again, then back at Dirk.

"Okay, we know we're Team Jacket. What does this have to do with what you bought?" Todd asks, curious despite himself.

"I am _so glad_ you asked, Todd!" Dirk plunges one arm into the bag and pulls out a… folded piece of fabric? Todd holds his breath as Dirk unfolds and holds up a t-shirt.

It's… well, it's not quite hideous. It's a black shirt with a photo of the three of them posing in front of the agency sign from the day they opened the office, and under that are the words 'Team Jacket'. It honestly wouldn't be that bad, but the photo is grainy from being blown up and the letters are picked out in rainbow. Plus, Todd is pretty sure that Dirk used the photo where Todd is about to sneeze and Farah had a dust bunny in her hair.

"Wow." Farah eventually manages.

"It's… yeah, wow." Todd drops to the couch in shock, and Señor Mouser lands heavily on the floor, glaring balefully.

"Isn't it great?" Dirk beams. "The shop suggested making the words white, but one can never have too many colors!"

"Dirk," Farah begins, one hand raised to cover what looks like stifled laughter. "It's, um." Todd hisses at her and she pauses. "I mean. It is very colorful."

"I knew you'd love them!" Dirk tosses the one he's holding to Farah, hands a second to Todd, and immediately starts trying to put the last one on himself. It takes him almost thirty seconds of struggle to realize that he should probably take his jacket off first and then try to put the t-shirt on. By the time he figures out how to get the shirt on over his button down and to put his jacket back on over top, Todd and Farah have already pulled theirs on over their heads as well, with a mixture of resignation and reluctant joy.

"Dirk these are…" Farah trails off, still laughing, and looks at Todd for help.

"They're really, um – it's really nice of you to have made them, but –" Todd breaks too, is suddenly giggling into his hands, and Dirk looks back and forth between them with a moue of annoyance.

"If you don't like them, you don't have to wear them," he says testily, and starts pulling his jacket back off.

"We didn't say that!" Farah says hastily, and Todd jumps back up, quickly puts a hand on Dirk's shoulder.

"We like them, I promise," he says earnestly. "I mean, don't get me wrong, they're tacky as fuck. But also I love it?"

"Same!" Farah volunteers, and Dirk eyes them warily.

"Well, if you're sure," he says, and they both nod, still snickering, still pleased.

* * *

Dirk walks into the kitchen the next morning and starts the coffee machine before filling the electric kettle. It's not often that he's up before Todd, but Todd had been out late the previous night with Amanda, drinking and catching up. He can't fault him for sleeping in a bit.

Dirk had noticed that before going out, Todd had switched the Team Jacket shirt back out for some band shirt – Happiness Subset, was it? – and left the agency shirt crumpled on his bed. (Dirk hadn't snooped in his room; he'd left the door wide open! Dirk was just – was just poking his head in to make sure there weren't any dirty dishes! That's certainly the only reason.) Dirk wasn't _upset_ about that, per se, but he does have some unnamable (but not upset) emotion, knowing that Todd didn't want to wear the shirt to the bar. It was okay if Todd had just been humoring him earlier, and didn't actually want to be seen wearing a tacky, emotionally-created garment. That was _fine_. That was fine!

He brews his tea standing at the counter and drinks the first cup standing at the sink, eyelids heavy in the morning sun, and feels himself slowly waking up. The second cup, he carries over to the kitchen table, where he sits down and watches YouTube videos on his phone while sipping.

"Mornin', Dirk," Todd says, eventually shuffling into the kitchen in socked feet. He makes a beeline for the counter and moans in joy when he sees the steaming pot of coffee, pours a mug full and walks it over to Dirk, then drops down in the chair across from him. "Thank you," he says gratefully, and inhales deeply.

Dirk finishes a video of dogs running obstacle courses and looks up. He blinks.

Todd is wearing the shirt.

It's creased from sleep and half tucked into plaid flannel pajama pants, and he's wearing it.

"Oh," Dirk says stupidly.

"Hm?" Todd looks up, mug halfway to his mouth, and the tips of his ears redden. He covers his expression by taking a swallow of coffee, then coughs from the heat. Dirk snickers at him.

"Nice shirt," Dirk says, aiming for casual but landing on smug.

"I like it," Todd says simply, the flush not fading. "It's soft." He takes a smaller sip of his coffee and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I'm glad I didn't wear it to the bar last night," he adds through a yawn. "Some asshole was vaping, like, six inches from me, and my shirt smelled like root beer. Gross. I'm going to have to do laundry later so it doesn't stink up my whole room." He frowns. "That place is always packed with vape juice."

He was taking care of the shirt by leaving it behind, Dirk suddenly realizes. That… that is very good. That is just so, wow, so good. Yes. He giggles a bit, and Todd looks back up at him, forehead scrunched.

"Hm?"

"Nothing," Dirk says, beaming quietly. "I'm just happy."

* * *

Dirk doesn't share an apartment with Farah, so he has no way of knowing if she's wearing her Team Jacket shirt to bed, but he rather thinks not. He allows the matter to carefully slip from his mind.

It presents itself once more, however; he walks into the office a few days later to find her _cutting it up_. He muffles a squawk of indignation, then leaps backwards through the door before she can look up and see him. He makes a dramatic face at the floor, then slowly creeps his head back around the door frame.

Farah's standing over her desk, brandishing a pair of scissors. The shirt is laid out flat, and she's cutting strips off of the shoulders, brushing the scraps to the floor. There is… there is a lot less shirt than there was when he first gave it to her.

He pulls back into the hallway and grimaces, clutching his hair in dismay. She's _cutting it up_. She's cutting it up! He turns on his heel and begins pacing back and forth between their office door and the door of the dentist office with whom they share the floor. Why would she do that? What an entirely unnecessary thing to do! It's obvious that she's too fashionable and cool for such a terrible t-shirt, but to cut it up? Augh! Ugh! How perfectly baffling and weird and unkind, and – and rude! And mean!

He spends another few moments pacing, all knees and elbows and pique, before turning back into the office to give Farah a piece of his mind! He marches through the door, finger raised and mouth opened to find Farah –

– to find Farah holding up a newly-shaped muscle tank, smiling in satisfaction. She looks up and notices him.

"Oh, hey Dirk!" she says brightly. "I kept forgetting to grab the scissors from the office, so I finally brought the shirt back. Look what I did!" She turns the shirt around to show it off, and Dirk lowers his hand with a stupefied expression.

"That's – that's lovely," he babbles. "I mean, uh. Wow. Wow, you've done a great job with that."

Farah grins and folds the shirt, leaves it in a tidy bundle on the edge of her desk, and cleans up the fabric scraps. Todd walks into the office a moment later and she shows it off again, beaming. Todd laughs, and gives her a companionate fist-bump.

* * *

Todd sleeps in his Team Jacket t-shirt every night, and it slowly wears even softer with each cycle through the wash. Farah keeps hers in her gym bag, brings it to her kickboxing class, and is silently buoyed and sure that she can kick harder while wearing it. And Dirk –

– Dirk wears his every time it's clean and ready; out on cases, on quiet days in the office, while dashing helter-skelter through the city. And though he's the founding member of Team Jacket, makes sure to slip out of his leather jackets whenever possible, to show off the text on the back of only his.

"Did It!"

**Author's Note:**

> [Mole people, y'all](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Mole_People#/media/File:Mole_People.jpg)


End file.
